Ghost of You
by Kodokuna
Summary: Exactly what happens when everything you thought you knew turns out to have been a cruel illusion?
1. Eyes

**Story Rating** : M/R+

**Chapter Rating** : T/PG

**Story Warning** : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, andControversial Subject Matter.

**Chapter Warning** : Implied Plot for Torture

**Pairing **: Riddick/Jack

**Disclaimer **: I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.

**Feedback** : I love reviews, butI ask those that decide to press thelittle purplebutton to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.

**Note **: I plot for this story to be at least thirty chapters long, however, because of the inevitable darkness of it, there is a possibility that someone somewhere will become thoroughly disgusted and decide to report it to the administrators to have me banned. I am currently taking bets on how long it will take. I think by chapter twelve, mynext door neighborsays nine. We'll see.

* * *

**Ghost of You**

Eyes

Time : Present

Even in the drab grayscale that the daylight world was rendered through the darkened lenses of his goggles, Riddick could see every detail of the room that needed to be seen. His mind had calculated every possible escape route from the very second the brass hinges on the door had opened to their full extent. He could hear the silent whisper that gave away where the vents for the air conditioning were, feel the vibrations of footsteps in both apartments above and below where he stood, though the scent of food in the air masked the smell of human odors.

Every one of his senses, so relied upon for survival throughout the majority of his life, gave him everything that he needed to know about the situation.

But none of it mattered.

Second by second, every fleeting thought that had entered his mind prior to opening the door fled his mind. His lungs, always so dependable before, seized up, contracting painfully within his chest to cut the right to breathe solidly in half. One hand, which mere moments before had been gripping the shiv he had made especially for this occasion, fell open, releasing the blade to fall with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. The other reached over to grab the doorframe for support of legs that had lost all feeling, knuckles whitening in an effort to keep himself upright.

He struggled, for a moment, to swallow down the sudden aching constriction that seemed to have seized his throat. The muscles around his mouth twitched as he tried to find something, anything, to say, but words proved to be too much of a thing for his vocal chords to form. The most he could do was let the last of the air in his lungs escape with a choking sound only half audible to his ears.

Blinking, he focused his gaze on the eyes, round and bright with a confused wonderment, and set into a much younger version of a face that he had long ago memorized. Riddick knew those eyes, they were the ones he'd promised himself he'd carve out of their sockets for every lying gleam he'd let himself believe.

Eyes he had loved.

Eyes he had hated.


	2. Waiting

**Story Rating** : M/R+

**Chapter Rating** : T/PG

**Story Warning** : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, and Controversial Subject Matter.

**Chapter Warning** : Impending Death, Really Minor Fluff

**Pairing **: Riddick/Jack

**Disclaimer **: I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.

**Feedback** : I love reviews, but I ask those that decide to press the little purple button to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.

FitMama – I thank you for your praise and for your eloquent review. Hopefully I will be able to post all thirty chapters for you to read.

**Note **: This story shall follow a bit of an irregular pattern of Long and Short Chapters.

* * *

**Ghost of You**

Waiting

Time: Ten Years Ago

There was no light save for the dull mix of unmarked buttons lining the control panel and the soft glow of a navigational screen more than two decades out of date. The decision to cut the lights went unspoken and without explanation.

No one complained.

No one argued.

The yellow dotted gage for the air tanks hummed at half full. He'd set the recycling unit to use the lowest breathable mix, but this was only prolonging the inevitable.

He knew the older units, knew that they only operated at a fifty percent efficiency rate. Such a low yield would have been fine, if water were their only concern.

They had plenty of water, all stored in salvaged canteens and containers, enough to last several weeks. With the recycling unit it would last far longer than air, longer than the food.

Canned vegetables of indeterminable origin mixed with several dozen boxes of freeze dried rations equaled plenty to keep all three of them alive for at least three months. It was enough, roughly, to maintain ten people for a period of two and a half weeks which was, in turn, how long they had been drifting.

It was exactly twenty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes since the skiff had drifted into the area of space designated as the Sol Trak shipping lane. There had been no sign of any ship, sleeper or star-jumper, since their arrival. The skiff's sensors, though old, had been able to pick up traces of an ion trail nearly four months old, evidence of the last ship that had passed through.

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

Riddick turned his head, looking over at the girl.

Strapped in to the co-pilot's seat, she had her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if they were the only thing anchoring her to the world. Her gaze was pointed straight ahead staring past the window at the inky blackness of empty space and the faint pinpricks of stars as they drifted lethargically past.

She looked just like she had sitting back in the cargo container listening to the arguments over the darkness on that planet. He knew she could be no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen, to pass herself off as a boy. Her fair skin was smudged with dirt and there was a bit of a bruise accompanied by a small cut on her forehead, the only injury she'd sustained.

Riddick took in the lack of hair on her head, noticing a few strands that she had missed in the process of mimicking him.

She turned her head, slowly, to look at him. There was no fear in her round eyes and no tears. Just a hollow acceptance of what was to come.

There was no hint of hope in them anymore.

"What color are your eyes?" Riddick asked abruptly. She gave him a startled look that at any other time would have made him laugh. The confusion in her expression was genuine, clearing that hollow look from her gaze if only for a moment. "I can't see normal colors, kid."

"Oh," she said softly, bowing her head slightly but keeping her eyes on him. "They're green."

Riddick nodded slightly, acknowledging the fact. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes against the relative silence that followed.

The skiff's engines hummed in tune to the electrical inner workings of the instrument panel.

Somewhere behind them the holy man was snoring almost inaudibly.

The recycling unit gurgled.

"What color were yours?"

He turned his head, slowly, to look at the girl. She was looking downwards towards an invisible speck on the metal floor beneath her seat. One hand fiddled with the peeling sole of her right sneaker. After a moment she raised her head and met his gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching into the faint echo of a smile.

"They were brown," Riddick answered in a simple even tone.

He glanced down at his leg and the bandage there. He'd stitched the injury himself, as neither of his current company knew how.

The girl had watched him do it, eyes wide in morbid fascination. She didn't balk at the sight of blood like the holy man and it had been clear by the faint glint of curiosity in her eyes that she wanted to learn how. Riddick hadn't explained, but he had done it slowly so she could work it out on her own if she wanted to.

As a result the stitches had come out neater than usual.

He looked back up, catching sight of his reflection in the glass. The small cut on the side of his head was cleaned out and scabbed over, no bandage necessary, same with the nick on his ear and the slice on his chest.

After a moment he cast his eyes back over to the girl. She was watching him now, a wary gleam in her eyes now.

"What's your real name?"

"Audrey," she answered with only a second's worth of hesitation. In that single moment, he saw the brief expression of distaste that crossed her face.

"You don't like that name," Riddick observed and she shrugged as if it didn't matter, though of course it did.

"Not like I had a choice," she muttered in a dull tone, hanging her head once more. "Social Services picked it."

He tilted his head, ignoring the pain in his leg as he shifted to lean towards the girl, frowning.

The seat creaked.

She snapped her head up at the sound, locking eyes with him.

"You're an orphan?" Riddick asked, frown deepening even more as he spoke.

The girl nodded, slowly, hesitantly.

She waited, eyes expecting more words, but he could think of nothing more to say. After a few moments, she yawned, hugging her knees closer. Her breath was forming clouds in the thin air.

The skiff was growing colder.

Riddick glanced down at the gage for the heating unit. It hadceased its feeble operationssometime during their stunted conversation.

Unclipping his harness, he quickly stood, almost forgetting about his leg until the pain hit him sharply. Gritting his teeth, he made his way into the back of the skiff.

The holy man was sleeping in the auxiliary seats, curled up inside his robes.

Riddick ignored him and bent down over the supplies that had been brought on board before the disastrous cycle of that nightmare planet had set in. There were ten blankets, bundled up tight under one of the seats. He grabbed out four of them and examined the ties that kept them bound up.

They were too thin, so he picked up a third set, tossing one pair onto the seat next to the holy man before moving back up to the cockpit. He handed the rest to the girl, whose eyes went wide in surprise.

She smiled faintly, but frowned when he sat back down without taking one.

"Don't you want one?" she asked of him, holding out what she perceived to be a spare.

"Don't need one yet," he told her bluntly. "They're too thin anyways."

She looked down at them, fingering the edge of one. Her frown deepened as she pulled them open to see if he was right. Riddick watched as she wrapped them around herself as securely as she could.

She threw him another faint smile after a moment.

"Better than nothing," she commented softly. "Thank you."

"Shouldn't thank me," Riddick muttered, closing his eyes. "Wasn't planning on coming back."

The silence that followed this confession was brief, but long enough to instill discomfort.

"I know," the girl whispered after a moment.

"You know," he repeated, unable to keep the snarling edge out of his voice as he opened his eyes to frown at her.

Riddick expected an accusing, even hateful glare. Instead he saw what looked like guilt painted on her face.

It was a moment before he realized she was crying. She was so quiet about it that he almost missed the first few tears falling onto her cheeks.

But he could smell the salt.

He stood again, stepping out and over to her seat, picking her up with almost no effort, blankets and all. She choked out a startled gasp, tensing in his arms as he sat back down in the pilot's chair. He kept himself from moving after that, holding her loosely so she could move away if she wanted to.

She blinked at him, then suddenly just buried her face against his shirt. She was shaking now, silent sobs racking her body.

Riddick shifted, bringing a hand up to the back of her head. He brushed his fingers over the curve of her scalp, nearly able to cover it beneath the span of his palm. The short fuzz adorning her head felt soft against the callused pads of his fingers.

She hiccupped, sobs subsiding somewhat. Her own hand found a fold in his torn shirt, fisting it as she sniffed back more tears.

He kept his hand against the back of her head, raising his eyes up to stare at his reflection in the window.

A few minutes later the girl's breathing started to slow as she fell into the rhythm of sleep. Riddick looked down at her, then pulled one of the blankets up over her arms.

Her face was still pressed against his chest.

The side of his mouth twitched into an echo of a smile as he closed his eyes.


	3. Rescue

**Story Rating** : M/R+ 

**Chapter Rating** : M/R

**Story Warning** : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, and Controversial Subject Matter.

**Chapter Warning** : Graphic Violence, Gore

**Pairing **: Riddick/Jack

**Disclaimer **: I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.

**Feedback** : I love reviews, but I ask those that decide to press the little purple button to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.

FitMama – Again I must thank you for the eloquent review. You have pointed out the very things that were supposed to be seen. I'm very glad that you think the characterization is going well, for that was what I was most worried about. Again, thank you, yours is the type of review that I love to get.

Ren3017 – I thank you for your review as well, although I would ask what it is you liked about the descriptions. I also apologize for the delay between chapters, as things like school tend to get in the way.

Tini243 – So good that you think it's close to character, as I mentionedabove it was one of the things I was most worried about. Thirty chapters is, of course, the number I'm aiming for, with only about half of it actually written. There might be more than thirty, depending on whether or notthe storyactually reaches the point of the plot.

Tinca – I thank you for your review. Perhaps you shall like this chapter, for it does have Riddick kicking some ass and shall be the first chapter to fit the actual rating of the story.

**Note **: And here is where the rating of the chapter actually fits the rating for the story. I apologize for the delay, as there is this thing called school which gets in the way of my life.

* * *

**Ghost of You**

Rescue

Time : Ten Years Ago

The gage was red now, blinking insistently for the air tanks to be changed out.

Riddick stared at it, though he wasn't really focused on the minuscule glow itself, but on silence behind him.

They were eating, the holy man and the girl. They had offered him some of the food but he'd turned it down, earning a worried glance from her eyes.

It caused a discomforting feeling in his chest, that worry.

He looked away from the gage, to the point of his shiv. It glinted only slightly in the dim light, reflecting in the window. His eyes flicked up to his reflection, then to the forms of those huddled in blankets behind him.

The girl must have felt his eyes, for she looked up. A half-smile formed itself on her face, a renewed hope there that caused the disquiet he felt to increase ten fold.

He closed his eyes.

Suddenly there was a clicking, grating, scraping, grinding screech of metal on metal cutting through the thin air. Riddick's eyes snapped open again, darting upwards to the source of the sound.

An instant later something on the outside hull hooked itself into the wing, causing the small craft to jolt forward violently.

The girl cried out, startled, and Riddick looked towards her. She was clutching the arms of one of the auxiliary seats, eyes wide and fearful. Her eyes turned to him again, questioning, though it was the holy man who gave it voice.

"What is happening?" the cleric asked, looking towards the ceiling, worry in his tone.

"Grappler arms," Riddick responded, unable to keep the annoyed growl out of his voice. "Junkers."

"Then we are rescued?" the holy man asked hopefully, smiling.

"Rescued?" Riddick echoed, then laughed, shaking his head.

He froze upon seeing the scared expression still etched on the girl's face. Somehow it fueled the strange feeling in his chest, as if her fear was causing him a kind of physical discomfort. It annoyed him, this feeling.

Riddick made to stand up, growling at the slight pain in his leg still from the stitches. The skiff was moving again, being pulled backwards by the grapplers. He glanced at the girl.

She moved away, quicker than he had ever expected her to move. One moment she was standing near the back of the pilot's chair, blankets still draped over her shoulders, the next she was behind the co-pilot's chair. Her eyes were still wide, watching him.

Riddick could smell her fear permeating the air.

She wasn't afraid of him, that much he knew. He watched as she raised her eyes to meet his, blinking very slowly, as if time itself had slowed down.

"No one's going to hurt you, kid," he told her, finding the name of the fear she hadn't dared to give voice to.

She looked surprised for a second, to be replaced with the awed gaze he remembered from when they'd first spoken to each other. Back at the crash when there had been more who would of survived, could have survived, should have survived.

"Promise?" she asked, a word whispered.

Riddick became aware of the holy man's eyes boring into him, as if the cleric were trying to x-ray his soul.

"Yeah, kid," he answered, not looking away from her. "I promise."

A shadow suddenly fell over the window, drawing his attention. The skiff jolted again, grinding to a halt inside the darkness of what could only be another ship. The stars outside were soon cut off from sight as the instrument panel flickered and died, leaving all but him in darkness.

There was a faint hiss, like the sound of oxygen being pumped into the void and the sound of a door creaking open somewhere.

Riddick moved towards the door of the skiff, ignoring the holy man. With the power out on the skiff, he couldn't open the hatch, not that he wanted to until he knew something more about the ones who had picked them up.

Abruptly there was a smashing sound behind him. The girl gave out another startled cry and he spun in time to see her duck away from the thick shards of falling glass that had been the window. She scurried away even as he moved back towards the front.

Someone outside cursed in a language he didn't know.

There was light, a flashlight beam against the darkness, attached to the barrel of a gun distinctly similar to one he knew well. He heard the safety click off, telling him everything he needed to know.

In an instant Riddick scrambled out through the shattered remains of the cockpit window.

The light burned at his eyes.

He let out a growl, knocking the barrel of this unknown assailant's gun aside. The bullet went off with a deafening crack that reverberated throughout the enclosed space.

Another gunshot went off, aimed wildly from someone panicking on the floor below.

Unflinching, Riddick lunged forward. Closing his right hand over the junker's neck, he slammed the man down onto the nose of the skiff. His left hand came down in a simultaneous swoop, shiv slicing through the man's throat.

Then he was moving again as more gunshots rang out. Poorly aimed with little aid from whatever dim lights were being provided from one of the inner hatches, none of the shots hit him.

The smell of blood now filled the air. Fresh blood mixed with panic and fear, fuel for the adrenaline that now pumped through his veins.

He struck, jumping down from the front of the skiff into the midst of the junkers and their guns. Words shouted, escaping their throats though none of it held any meaning to his ears.

Riddick lashed out at the nearest one so fast that the sound of his own neck snapping reached his ears before he realized he was dead. Lunging away from this one kill, he let his newly bloodied blade slammed into the chest of a second person, knocking him to the floor. He yanked theshiv back, a small chunk of flesh coming with it.

Some of them were backing away now, not that it mattered.

Riddick spun low and sliced through the Achilles' tendon of the next man. The junker went down only to have his neck crushed by his assailant's heavy soled boot.

Swinging the shiv in an upwards arc as he stood, Riddick hit a fourth in the gut. However, this one was wearing a military issue vest. The blade snagged where it should have cut.

This delay was enough so that the remaining member of the welcome party managed to collect his wits. He pulled the trigger only to find that it was his comrade on the other end of the barrel.

The bullets tore the man apart and Riddick came up from behind.

He closed his right hand over the man's face, cutting off his ability to breath, then slammed his head back against the side of the skiff.

The first time there was nothing but the hollow clang of something thick hitting the seemingly unmovable metal wall. It was not enough force to render the owner of the skull unconscious.

The junker's skull cracked under the force of the second blow.

Collapsed with the third.

Nearly liquefied with the fourth.

Only then did Riddick release his hold. Letting the battered corpse fall to the floor, he stepped away.

The scent of blood still filled the air, but the adrenaline was fading. The threat was gone, for the moment at least.

He turned back towards the front of the skiff to see the girl staring at him from out the window. Her eyes were wide and she was gaping slightly. It was apparent from her gaze that she had seen everything. Riddick stepped towards her and abruptly she jerked back.

He stopped.

There was fear now. Fear of what he'd just done. Fear of him, all reflected in those round eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid," he told her, that clenching disquiet returning.

She stared at him, biting her lip.

"Promise?" she asked, eyes never leaving his face.

"Yeah, kid," Riddick answered as the holy man emerged from the window, a horrified expression on his face. "I promise."


	4. Child

**Story Rating** : M/R+ 

**Chapter Rating** : G

**Story Warning** : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, andControversial Subject Matter.

**Chapter Warning** : None

**Pairing **: Riddick/Jack

**Disclaimer **: I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.

**Feedback** : I love reviews, but I ask those that decide to press the little purple button to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.

AmberDD - I am completely amazed and grateful for your wonderful review. I am very glad that you enjoyed the fight scene, as it did take a rather long time. I kept going back and tweaking stuff because it didn't sound right. And to address your concern over Imam, you're right, he doesn't really have much of a presence as of yet. He does have two important points in the plot, one of which occurs in the next two chapters, but after that it'll be a long, long while before we see him again. I'm glad you think Riddick and Jack are both in character, I shall strive to keep it that way. Thank you again for your wonderful review.

njrd - I thank you for your review, although Jack really isn't scared of him, per se. She's more scared of what he's capable of and after witnessing him kill five people within the span of sixty something seconds, it's only logical. It's like being afraid of a cat. You're not really afraid of the cat itself, just the fact that it has teeth, claws, and a short temper. The cat in this example is actually named Jack, but it's a boy cat with allergies. He's napping on the computer as I type this.

ren3017 - I like ramblings, they can be very insightful sometimes and your review is right on the mark about so many things that if I responded any more I would slip up and give away the entire plot. Thank you and do continue to provide more insightful ramblings, I enjoy them so.

**Note **: Short chapter, but one of big importance. And before anyone asks, yes, My Chemical Romance is one of my favorite bands.

* * *

**Ghost of You**

Child

Time : Present

There were dozens of small wooden blocks of differing shapes stacked in makeshift towers on the carpeted floor. Probably multi-colored, though of course he couldn't tell.

Those eyes still stared at him, confusion replaced with concern.

Riddick wasn't sure how to judge her age when she possessed those eyes. His mind kept flicking back to memories of another.

But this one was so much younger, a child.

Maybe three.

Maybe four.

She sat there on the floor amidst the scattered blocks. One was held in her hand, a triangular shape that looked too big for her small fingers to grasp. A single curling lock of hair had fallen in her face when she had first looked up at him.

"Awe you a-wight?"

It took a moment for him to register the fact that she had spoken. Even longer for the words to make sense in his mind, as the majority of people he had ever spoken were never under the age of ten.

By then she had repeated her question.

"Awe you a-wight?"

Riddick knelt down, one hand still gripping the door frame. He was still far from eye level, but he could see her face more clearly.

His chest tightened again.

Her face, though it had not yet lost its baby fat, was clearly one he knew. Though the nose was slightly different and her skin was slightly darker.

"I'm fine," he lied, unable to raise his voice above a whisper due to the continuing constriction on his lungs.

She watched him warily, as if disbelieving.

"What's your name?"

"H-lena," she answered, almost pronouncing every syllable.

"Helena," Riddick echoed, looking again at her round gaze. "What color are your eyes?"


	5. Leaving

**Story Rating** : M/R+

**Chapter Rating** : T/PG

**Story Warning** : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, andControversial Subject Matter.

**Chapter Warning** : Cursing

**Pairing **: Riddick/Jack

**Disclaimer **: I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.

**Feedback** : I love reviews, but I ask those that decide to press the little purple button to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.

ren3017 – What can I say, I love stories where he's a father too. But all of them are kind of too sickly sweet. I asked one of my friends on DeviantArt to draw a picture of Helena and for some odd reason she decided to do five. Two of them are up :

http/ for what happened between Jack and Riddick, well, it's bad and basically the main reason why this story might get pulled.

AmberDD – Please, I wouldn't kill him off that easily. Riddick's death would be a dramatic struggle with much violence, cursing, and general loathing of the universe. Pffft, poison gas.

njrd – Jack's skin is pretty light, and Riddick's, on the other hand, is, as often described by so many authors, 'caramel colored' which is such a lovely description. This girl would have, oh, a mix of the two. I do apologize for the confusion. Unfortunately it may get worse before it gets better.

Tinca – So glad you liked the fight scene, it did take me a while. And, between you, me, and anyone else who reads these review responses, those 'meaningful moments' have so much much more to do with the story line.

FitMama – Yes, Helena is Jack's daughter and, Yes, she is Riddick's daughter too. And to answer your questions : No, You'll see, Something rather bad, You'll see.

**Note **: You know, I don't really have anything to say about this chapter other than I hope I did alright writing Imam.

* * *

**Ghost of You**

Leaving

Time : Nine Years Ago

Riddick stood by the window, silently staring.

He had not intended to come back this night. He had not planned on walking the same route through the back streets as he had every night for the past two months. He had not meant to return to the sandstone corner house, through the back door to the kitchen.

He had a ship, he'd bought it earlier that week with money more or less stolen. He could leave, if he wanted to.

The girl was curled up on the couch, fallen asleep from waiting for him to come back. She had sat up, in the living room of the holy man's house, every single night since they had arrived in New Mecca, waiting for him to come back.

It had become almost a ritual.

Riddick always left early in the morning, before dawn. He always came back when it was dark, sometimes just after sunset, sometimes well after midnight.

Most nights she would be awake and she would talk about the things that happened during her day while he ate what was left of dinner. She never asked what he did during the day, which was just as well because he wouldn't have told her anyway.

Tonight was different.

Her face was half hidden a pillow, but the half of her usually pale skinned cheek that he could see was dark with a well formed bruise. He quietly knelt down, peering at her from a distance. By the shape and form of the discoloration on her cheek he could tell how it had been created.

Someone else's fist had collided with her face. Little bigger than her own clenched hand. A slightly different shape to the knuckles. A boy's knuckles, aimed poorly, a lucky shot.

"She wouldn't say how she got it."

Riddick looked up.

The holy man was standing in the hallway beyond the kitchen, a somber look on his eyes. His voice was quiet and even. The concerned expression he wore made him appear slightly older, emphasizing lines in his face that previously had not been there.

"Whoever it was more than likely looks worse," the cleric said, a shadow of a smile crossing over his face. It faded a moment later as he stepped into the room. "Have you found your ship, Mister Riddick?"

Standing up slowly, Riddick nodded.

His gaze was still on the girl's sleeping face. Her eyes were moving quickly beneath the lids, dreaming. One hand was clenched over a fold in the pillow her head was rested on.

The skin on the knuckles of that very same hand were scraped, indicating what he already knew. It made him feel, somewhat, proud, that she had fought back.

"She thinks I do not know that she sits up waiting every night."

He looked back towards the holy man and was fixed with a hard stare. For a moment it felt as if he were being accused of something, so sharp was the glint in those opposing eyes.

"Do you know what would happen if you had not returned this evening?"

Riddick didn't respond, but turned back towards the kitchen, towards the backdoor and the still dark streets beyond. He made it as far as the doorknob.

"She would wait tomorrow, and the night after, and the night after, until it became truly clear that you were not coming back."

Riddick stopped, turning his head to the side. He could see his reflection the back window and beyond it the faint outline of the couch.

He could imagine her doing just as the holy man said. Sitting curled up on the couch, staring at the back door. Falling asleep in the very same place every night.

He could see her eyes devoid of hope as he had seen them become on the skiff.

"She can't come with me, holy man," Riddick muttered, shaking his head as he reached out towards the door. "Its safer here."

He heard the holy man moving, robes rustling as he stepped farther into the room.

"Safer for whom?" the cleric asked, voice sounding out much firmer than before. "She does not just look up to you, Mister Riddick, she counts you as a friend. I do not think she will take it very lightly if you simply leave without at least-"

"At least what?" Riddick growled, straining to keep his voice low. He didn't want her waking up. "Explaining? What the hell is there to explain? I'm a killer, holy man, not a fucking babysitter! I can't keep the mercs off my neck and protect her at the same time!"

"You misunderstand," the holy man returned. In the reflection of the window Riddick saw him shake his head. "It is not her who needs your protection, it is you who needs hers."

Turning around again, Riddick watched as the elder man walked quietly back down the hall and out of sight.

He then shifted his gaze to the girl, still sleeping on the couch. Or so it would appear if not for the lack of movement beneath her eyelids. He did not know how long she'd been awake or how much she had heard.

"You can stop pretending now, kid," he muttered, leaning a hand on the counter. His mind was still digesting the holy man's words.

She slowly opened her one visible eye. Fixating her gaze on him as she raised her head from the pillow, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. It appeared she was thinking.

Riddick's eyes shifted from hers to the bruise on her cheek. He felt a sudden rush of delayed anger towards whoever had given it to her. It caused his fists the clench involuntarily.

He forced his hands back open and shifted his gaze to her hair. It had grown out into an inch and a half of fuzz sticking out all over her head. He wondered, briefly, what it would look like when it was longer.

"You don't have to stay," the girl whispered, drawing his attention back to her eyes. "I know you don't want to."

Riddick stared at her, frowning slightly.

She looked away, biting her lip. He could see, as she turned her head, the faint gleam of moisture threatening to overflow.

She raised a hand and swiped at her eyes.

A moment later she stood up, sock padded feet hitting the stone tiled floor. She walked slowly around the side of the couch towards the hallway the holy man had disappeared down.

She didn't pause before passing out of sight.


End file.
